


The Fate of Careless Winter Sprites

by riventhorn



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Captivity, Forced Mark, Hand Feeding, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Touch-Starved, i feel the tags make this sound darker than it is but ymmv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: When Jack Frost lingers too long past Winter's thaw and falls asleep on a warm Spring day, he finds himself a captive of the Nightmare King.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 14
Kudos: 345





	The Fate of Careless Winter Sprites

The sunlight gained in warmth and strength as Spring seeped into the land. Lingering drifts of snow melted, and tender shoots struggled past the dead grasses and moldering leaves into the temperate air. All signaled that it was time for Jack to flee. When Winter’s grip eased, he must seek colder climes where the ice and snow remained ascendant all the year through. 

But fair Spring bewitched all who met her, and the warm breezes and budding flowers piqued Jack’s curiosity. The flowers he knew were the yellow and purple blooms of autumn, not these pink and white billows wreathing the trees. How familiar were the dried, red and yellow leaves rustling in an October gust, how captivating the waxy, heart-shaped new leaves unfurling at the ends of branches.

They shriveled at his touch, of course, and Jack fled from Spring’s wrath on a rollicking breeze that brought him to a pool still edged with snow crystals. But even here, tiny white flowers braved the cold, damp earth, and when he trailed his fingers in the water and left crackling ice behind, it lasted mere moments before succumbing to the power of the sun. 

Such warm sunshine! It made Jack drowsy, and he sat on a cushion of moss and listened to the song of a strange bird with bright blue feathers instead of catching a north wind. The thought of the long flight northwards made him even sleepier, and he decided to take a nap before attempting it. 

Dimly, he was aware of the inherent danger in the sunshine, of how it leeched his energy away, but he found a shadowed, cool hollow underneath a stone where he curled up and closed his eyes. His last thought before he fell asleep was a vague wish that he could take a tiny bit of this warmth and tenderness with him when he returned to his snow and ice. 

*

Jack woke to darkness. 

A deep, impenetrable black, darker even than cloudy nights that hid the light of moon and stars. The air was stifling, uncomfortably warm and still, not even the hint of a friendly breeze. 

For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open and had to touch his face to make sure. Was he underground? But how had he gotten there? Or rather, _who_ had brought him here?

Panicked, Jack stood—or tried to, but found he was on a flat, smooth metal surface that rocked beneath him when he moved and sent him falling to his knees. So he crawled forward, and his hands found metal bars, thick and spaced too tightly for him to squeeze past them. He was in a cage. Someone had caught him and taken him underground and locked him in a cage. 

His breaths came short and fast. He retreated to the center of the cage and locked his arms around his knees, hiding his face in them. 

How long he sat there trembling, he wasn’t sure. But suddenly he heard a quiet sound, like heavy cloth dragging across the ground. His eyes flew open, and he saw two spots of golden light in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Jack cried out, lurching across the cage until his back pressed against the bars. “Let me out!”

“Let you out?” the shadows repeated, and their voice was rich and deep. “I don’t think foolish winter sprites who stay behind in the Spring get to make such demands. You’re the one who went to sleep in the dark, after all, and didn’t rouse when I took you.”

“What do you want with me?” Jack asked, unable to stop his voice from shaking. His staff was gone, and he felt defenseless in the warm dark, only weak bursts of frost coming from his fingers. 

“I don’t know yet,” the shadows answered, and the golden eyes came closer, accompanied by that sound of rustling cloth. “You were shining there in my darkness, white and cold, and I _wanted_ that shine. Besides, we are already acquainted, you and I.” 

“We aren’t!” Jack protested. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“You don’t remember me? I’m hurt,” the shadows said in a sarcastic tone. “Why, you’ve helped create such delicious fear for me among the humans. Those steep toboggan runs the children slide down, screaming; the slippery ice they fall on in a burst of adrenaline; the cold that slows their hearts and freezes their limbs if they stay in it too long—you made all that for me, Jack Frost.”

Jack shook his head, denying it. 

“No? Well, perhaps you didn’t do it for me. It was a… fortuitous side effect of your ice and snow. But you must admit that we are natural companions. My fear and your ice, my dark and your cold. I am Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, and you know me, Jack Frost, even if you try to deny it.”

The Nightmare King. Jack’s breath caught in his throat. “Let me out,” he said again, growing more desperate. He scrabbled at the bars. “Let me out!”

“Not now. Not yet,” Pitch Black said, sounding amused at Jack’s terror. “It’s not every day a little sprite wanders into my lair, and I told you that I haven’t yet decided what to do with you, Jack Frost.”

The Nightmare King withdrew, then, leaving Jack in the still and silent dark.

*

At first, he was too afraid to settle. He kept circling his swaying cage, trying to feel for some gap in the bars. But he couldn’t even tell where the door was, and his heart pounded and his mouth went dry. 

Then, as more time passed, he began to worry less about what Pitch intended to do with him and more about whether Pitch would ever return. What if he just left Jack here? Like all spirits, Jack could go a long time without sustenance, but his energy reserves were not endless. He needed wind and ice, sunlight and starlight, fresh air and clouds. If Pitch left him locked here in the dark….

He began to grow weaker. Although better than direct sunlight, the air was still too warm for him, and it made him groggy and nauseous. He drifted in and out of sleep and wakefulness, and they began to blend together, until he could not tell when one began and another ended, because they were both filled with shadows. 

Until at last, he slowly became aware of someone touching him. There were gentle fingers carding through his hair. Jack stirred and moaned weakly. 

“There now,” a deep voice murmured, and something cold and wet was pressed against his lips. A chip of ice, he realized, and he licked and sucked at it greedily. 

“That’s very good,” the voice said. “Try one of these, now,” it continued, and Jack opened his mouth obediently. The sweet, sharp flavor of winter berries burst on his tongue. 

His eyes fluttered open and immediately filled with tears at the candlelight illuminating the shadows. His cheek was pressed against something scratchy—a woolen robe, he slowly realized. He was fed another chip of ice, and as it melted on his tongue, he felt strong enough to turn his head. 

The fingers in his hair disappeared, only to resettle moments later around his shoulder. Jack blinked again, looking around, and found Pitch Black looking down at him. He was cradling Jack in his arms, and he brought another berry to Jack’s mouth, slipping it inside, and then brushing his knuckles across Jack’s cheekbone. 

Jack stared at Pitch’s face, still feeling muzzy and weak. Pitch’s golden eyes were set in an angular face, with black brows and a hooked nose. Jack felt drawn into his gaze, like swimming in a sticky pool of honey. 

“Do you feel better now, little one?” Pitch asked.

A measure of Jack’s strength _was_ returning, and spirals of frost curled from his fingers into Pitch’s robes. Pitch looked down, surprised and then amused. He smiled, and his teeth were sharp.

It made Jack’s fear return, and he began struggling, trying to get away. Pitch let him go, and Jack slid off his lap and onto the hard stone floor. He knelt there, panting, and then crawled a few feet away from where Pitch sat on a carved, wooden throne. All along the legs and arms were faces carved in a rictus of terror, mouths open on a scream. Jack shuddered and turned away, looking out into what seemed to be a wide cave. The candlelight did not reach far, but there was more movement in the air here than wherever he had been locked into that cage. 

Something shifted out there beyond the ring of candlelight, and Jack jolted backwards. 

Pitch chuckled. “That’s one of my Nightmares. They’re curious about you too. Come along into the light, my darling,” he added, speaking to whatever lurked in the shadows.

To Jack’s surprise, a horse stepped forward. It seemed to be made of black sand that shifted as it moved. It approached him and leaned down, snorting, its eyes glowing red. Fascinated, Jack reached out and touched its nose. It felt warm and rough, reminding him of Pitch’s robes. The Nightmare allowed the touch for a moment and then snorted again and tossed its head before wheeling around and galloping off into the cave. 

“Interesting,” Pitch said behind him, and Jack turned to find Pitch’s golden gaze studying him. 

Summoning his courage, Jack rose to his feet. He swayed but remained standing. “You have to let me go,” he told Pitch. “You have to give me my staff back and let me go.”

“Do I?” Pitch said, amused again.

“Yes! I’ll— I’ll die if you keep me locked here in the dark!”

“Hmmm, I did leave you alone too long, although it made you so sweetly pliant,” Pitch murmured. “But just let you go? I’m afraid you overestimate my kindness, Jack.”

Fear fluttered in his chest like a moth trapped behind a pane of glass. Jack reached out to the faint airs moving through the cavern, and they responded, even without his staff. He flew into the shadows and found a herd of Nightmares that scattered before him. And then he came up against the rock walls. He flew about, searching for an exit, but although he sometimes felt a colder draft of air or found moisture trickling down the rocks, he couldn’t find any sign of a tunnel or passage that would lead out of the cave. 

He was aware of Pitch watching him as he wove in and out of the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Pitch didn’t try to stop his explorations, clearly content in the knowledge that Jack wouldn’t be able to escape. 

Finally, admitting defeat and still feeling tired and drained, Jack landed at the outer edge of the circle of candlelight. He sat down and glared at Pitch, who smirked back. 

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll make you regret it,” Jack growled.

“Oh? And how do you plan to do that, pray?”

Scowling, Jack kicked at a piece of rock, sending it skittering across the ground.

“How childish, Jack, although it _is_ your nature, isn’t it?” Pitch leaned forward in his chair. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll tell you what I want from you.”

Jack sat up straighter, hopeful but wary.

Pitch smiled at him, showing his sharp teeth. “I’ll let you go on one condition. You let me put my mark on you so that I may summon you whenever I wish. And when I do, you will come to me immediately.”

“Are you crazy?” Jack demanded, leaping up. “I’m not going to let you do _that_.” It would mean surrendering his freedom to Pitch, and Jack prized his freedom. 

“Then I’ll have to put you back in the cage, Jack. You don’t want that, do you?”

“You don’t _have_ to trap me. You’re only being cruel.” Jack’s fear spiked again, looking at Pitch sitting there like a spider, waiting for him to fall into his web. He’d never let Pitch mark him. He ran back into the shadows, wanting only to escape Pitch’s gloating eyes. 

But the shadows swirled around him and strong arms caught him in their grasp. Pitch dragged Jack against his body, ignoring his struggles, and then put a hand over Jack’s mouth to muffle his cries. 

“You’re wrong, Jack,” Pitch whispered in his ear. “I could never let you go, now I’ve got you.”

The shadows engulfed them, and the next Jack knew, Pitch was closing the door of the cage and leaving him there once more. 

He threw himself against the bars, but it was to no avail, and at last he slumped to the floor, exhausted. He could still feel Pitch’s body against his, still feel Pitch’s arms around him, his fingers in Jack’s hair. The idea of being at Pitch’s beck and call—it made a strange, unnamable feeling tighten around his chest. 

*

This time, Pitch didn’t leave him alone in the cage as long. Jack was still conscious, though weaker, when Pitch returned. Unwelcome relief filled Jack at the sight of Pitch stepping out of the shadows, a lamp in one hand and a bowl of red winter berries in the other. Jack’s eyes locked onto the bowl immediately. His stomach cramped, hollowed out with hunger.

“Do you want some of these, Jack?” Pitch asked, and Jack nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the food.

Pitch set the lamp down on a rock ledge and then crooked his finger. The cage door sprung open and swung wide.

“Come here, little sprite,” Pitch told him, his golden eyes glowing. 

It suddenly seemed safer in the cage than out, but he was so hungry. Warily, Jack slid out of the cage and dropped lightly to the ground. He approached Pitch slowly, flicking his eyes between the tempting berries and the faint smile on Pitch’s face. 

When he drew close, he reached out toward the bowl, but Pitch drew it away. He was so much taller than Jack that he could easily hold it above Jack’s reach. Pitch plucked a berry from the bowl. “Open your mouth, Jack,” he said. 

Hunger warred with fear. At last, Jack stepped even closer so that his bare feet brushed against Pitch’s robes. He opened his mouth and shut his eyes.

“That’s very good,” Pitch crooned, and Jack was rewarded with the sweet berry. Another followed, and Jack kept his eyes shut but took one step closer to Pitch. 

Fingers in his hair again, petting the coarse, white strands. Had he ever been touched so? Jack couldn’t remember. He was in the main a solitary spirit, isolated by his wanderlust and his cold and ice. Pitch’s touch made a different sort of hunger rise in him, and he made a soft, wounded noise. 

Pitch hummed and curled a finger under Jack’s chin, tilting his head up. “Look at me, little one,” he said, his voice deep and rich with a promise for something Jack couldn’t name but wanted, even though it made the fear in him roil.

He opened his eyes and met Pitch’s golden ones. They drew him in, hypnotizing, until he couldn’t look away. Lassitude dragged at his limbs, but Pitch caught him and held him.

“Do you want to go back in the cage, Jack?” Pitch asked.

“No,” Jack said, his eyes filling with tears.

“Of course not. And I don’t want to put you there. So you know what you need to do, don’t you, Jack? Let me put my mark, here.” Pitch touched the inside of Jack’s left wrist. 

There was a reason… a reason he didn’t want the mark….

“It won’t hurt,” Pitch continued, stroking the skin. “And then I’ll let you go, back to your winds and the sun and the snow.”

So simple… so easy….

“Will you accept my mark, Jack?”

He was drowning in the burnished gold of Pitch’s eyes, surrounded by his thick, black robes. He wanted to feel the bright, clear sunlight again, wanted to fly high above the earth on the friendly winds, wanted to swirl snow into a howling blizzard. But he also wanted Pitch’s touch, wanted to stay here cradled in his arms, wanted Pitch to fulfill the promise that underlay his words. 

He struggled a moment, confused and torn. 

“Just accept my mark, Jack. Nothing terrible will happen to you. Will you accept it?”

Jack hesitated another endless moment. But he wanted to be free, he wanted to get away from the cloying darkness of these caves. And so he nodded, and said ‘yes,’ and shuddered at the sharp smile that Pitch gave him. 

Pitch hadn’t _exactly_ lied when he said the mark wouldn’t hurt. Jack was still half-mesmerized by Pitch’s eyes, but he was aware of Pitch pressing his fingers against Jack’s wrist and then bringing his own thumb to his mouth and biting it with his pointed teeth until a spot of blood welled in the cut. He smeared that on Jack’s wrist too, and Jack felt a tendril of shadow snake inside him. It didn’t hurt, but he didn’t like the way it felt either, alien and intrusive. 

Pitch released him, and Jack sank onto the ground, wrapping his arms around himself. It took a few minutes for the lingering trance to fade, but as it did, a dawning horror filled him. Breath clogged in his throat, and he shakily turned over his left wrist. There, in defined, awful detail, was a black snowflake. 

“I thought that seemed most appropriate,” Pitch said above him, sleek and smug. 

“You tricked me! You put me under a spell. It doesn’t count!” Jack scrambled up, furious. Frost crackled around his feet, and he sent it racing toward Pitch, who looked down, curious, as it climbed the hem of his robes. 

“It won’t work,” Jack said. “I won’t come when you call me, like a tame pet.” 

“Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Pitch said, still insufferably smug. He gestured at the shadows, which swirled around him, and he plucked Jack’s staff from their midst. “Now, I believe I promised to let you go, did I not?”

Jack rushed forward and grabbed his staff. It responded to his anger, and snow flurries began falling, despite the lack of wind and moisture in the cave. Pitch tutted, as though Jack were some child throwing a tantrum, and a tunnel appeared where before there had only been a solid rock wall. Jack sped down it, sensing light and air at the other end, pursued by Pitch’s mocking words:

“I’ll see you soon, Jack Frost.”

*

The tunnel spat Jack out in the shadows in the lee of a glacier. He made a beeline for a snowbank and rolled around in it, covering himself in snow, taking deep breaths of the cold air, his strength returning. At last, he flopped onto his back, staring up at the wide blue sky, so wonderful after the claustrophobic caves and tunnels of Pitch’s lair. He made a lazy snow angel and then reluctantly looked at his left wrist. 

The black snowflake was still there, marring his pale skin. Jack resisted the urge to claw at it, knowing that wouldn’t do any good. 

Instead, he tugged his sleeve down over it and called the winds to him, taking off over the frozen sea, trailing ice crystals and snowstorms in his wake. 

*

Every day after, Jack expected Pitch to call for him. But nothing happened, and eventually, the tension in him started to dissipate. He began daring to hope that the mark was defective. He could put up with the shadow inside his ice as long as Pitch couldn’t summon him. He made sure never to fall asleep in the shade or at night, instead taking naps in the afternoon, curled in the snow in the sun. 

And then one morning, when Jack was overseeing a snowball fight between some children, his left wrist began to itch. 

He hardly noticed at first, his attention on giving the snowballs that extra little lift so they hit their mark, snow spraying the shrieking girls and boys. But then the itching became a burning.  
Alarmed, Jack halted in midair and yanked up his sleeve. The black snowflake didn’t look any different, but it had undeniably been activated. Pitch wanted him to come.

Gritting his teeth, Jack stuck his arm in the snow, hoping it would cool the burning sensation. But it did nothing. Instead, it intensified, and he had to bite back a cry of pain. 

He tried to resist. But the pain became too great, like a brand melting his flesh, and with another cry, he gave in to the shadows that funneled from the mark and sucked him into their depths to carry him where they willed.

With a nauseating spin, he was teleported away, and emerged in Pitch’s cavern. The pain in his arm disappeared as if it had never been there. 

Pitch was sitting on his carved wooden throne, a Nightmare at his side. There were quite a few lit candles scattered about, so that Jack could see the glittering stalactites and some crystals lodged in the cavern walls.

“Why, Jack, how _nice_ of you to visit me,” Pitch said.

Jack tightened his grip on his staff and scowled. “That _hurt_ ,” he spat.

“Only because you resisted.” Pitch rubbed the nose of the Nightmare standing closest to his throne. “If you come to me like a good boy, it won’t hurt at all.”

“As if,” Jack retorted, and he spun his staff and brought a small snow cloud into existence above Pitch’s head. 

“ _Really_ , Jack?” Pitch grimaced as the flakes began falling. It was too hot for them to collect, but Jack figured Pitch’s robes and hair were getting damp. 

“We didn’t make any agreements about how I’d behave if you summoned me,” Jack pointed out, feeling a bit better about the situation. He sent some frost curling up the Nightmares’ hooves, and they whickered in distress. 

“An oversight on my part, given your childish temperament,” Pitch said with a sigh. “Very well. You may leave for now, but next time, I expect a _prompt_ response.”

The tunnel appeared again, and Jack flew off, laughing. This would be easy—he’d annoy Pitch so much that he’d end up voluntarily removing the mark.

*

The next time he felt the mark itch, Jack responded promptly. He expected to be whisked back to Pitch’s lair. But to his surprise, the shadows brought him to a moon-lit forest where the branches cast tangled shadows on the white snow. There was no sign of Pitch, and Jack hovered for a moment, uncertain.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around his middle, and warm breath gusted over his ear. Jack yelped and twisted frantically to get away. 

With a laugh, Pitch released him and stepped back. 

“What was that for?” Jack demanded, trying to calm his pounding heart. A Nightmare that had been hidden in the darkness under a tree nudged his shoulder with its nose, and he yelped again. “Seriously, stop it!”

“But, Jack, I thought you _liked_ to play,” Pitch mocked.

So that’s how it was, was it? Jack narrowed his eyes, pointed his staff, and the pine branch above Pitch’s head released the snow that burdened it with a soft “whump.” 

He was still laughing at the sight of Pitch covered in snow when Pitch vanished in a swirl of shadow. The next second, hands grasped Jack’s ankles and yanked him down into a snowbank. 

Jack reemerged sputtering around a mouthful of snow. Oh! Oh, this was _fun_! 

The Nightmares joined in too, playing hide-and-seek with Jack behind trees and dodging the snowballs he threw. Pitch’s ability to teleport through shadows didn’t save him from all of Jack’s snowballs, either. 

Pitch played with him until dawn began lightening the sky at which point he gathered his Nightmares around him and faded into the deeper shadows of a juniper thicket. Jack, exhilarated, caught an east wind that tossed and tugged him through the atmosphere as the sun broke on the horizon.

*

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ Pitch to call for him, he reasoned a few days later, curled in the boughs of an evergreen. He wouldn’t care if he never saw Pitch again, and he certainly didn’t want to end up back in Pitch’s cloying, claustrophobic lair. 

But if Pitch wanted to play like that again… well, it wasn’t like he could refuse anyway, could he?

*

Pitch summoned him the very next evening, but he was in clear view when Jack arrived, standing on the edge of a frozen lake. 

“Hello,” Jack said, wary. He couldn’t see any sign of the Nightmares. 

“I’ve heard that you can make fantastical sculptures with your ice, Jack,” Pitch said.

“Of course I can,” Jack replied. He was very proud of his ice sculptures.

“Make something for me then,” Pitch said. Jack couldn’t read the expression on his face, but his hair was like a spiky helmet silhouetted against the sky. 

“No,” Jack retorted. Did Pitch think he would do everything he ordered him to now, just because he wore Pitch’s mark?

“Why not?” Pitch asked, sounding annoyed.

“Because,” Jack said and stuck his tongue out at him, then darted away over the icy lake, frost skimming the bottoms of his feet. 

*

The next time Pitch called him, he was back at the same lake, but this time, he had a bowl of those sweet, red winter berries in one hand. 

“Make an ice sculpture for me, Jack, and I’ll give you all of these berries,” Pitch told him. 

Jack was torn between being offended that Pitch thought he could be bribed in such a blatant manner and craving the sweet berries. Part of him also wanted to show off his ice. 

Resistance to temptation was not one of Jack’s qualities, as a spirit. And so he skipped over to the edge of the lake and twirled his staff. “Watch this then,” he told Pitch and set to work.

It was one of the most intricate things he had ever done, and it left him tired and breathing hard. Two Nightmares, one rearing up and pawing the air, manes flying and nostrils flaring were harnessed to a sleigh. The sleigh itself had detailed snowflakes scattered across its sides and bells hung from the reins. The bells were so thinly carved and delicate that the wind could whistle through them with an eerie, hollow note. 

Pitch’s eyes were glowing brightly, and he climbed into the sleigh and sat on the seat. “This is very impressive, Jack,” he said, running his fingers over the raised snowflake designs and leaning forward for a closer look at the bells. “It’s beautiful. Amazing.” 

Jack preened, frost twining up his staff. 

“Come get your treat, then,” Pitch added, lounging back and holding out the bowl. 

But when Jack jumped up to grab it, Pitch plucked a berry and held that out instead. A shivering feeling seized Jack, for he remembered Pitch feeding him by hand before. He remembered being held close against Pitch’s scratchy robes. 

“Don’t be shy, little one,” Pitch murmured, and Jack made the mistake of meeting his eyes. Transfixed, he opened his mouth and accepted the sweet berry. Pitch smiled and blinked, and Jack shuddered, taking a deep breath as he was released. 

“Another?” Pitch asked.

It was because his voice was not mocking or triumphant but gentle that Jack let Pitch feed him the berries. He sat next to Pitch in the sleigh, legs folded under him, and he licked the juice off Pitch’s fingers when the berries were gone. 

They remained there, the sleigh and Nightmares frozen on the cusp of movement, watching the stars turn slowly overhead. Jack inched a little closer to Pitch, sensitive to the warmth of his body. His pulse quickened, and he kept his eyes on the night sky, lest he turn and find Pitch’s golden gaze upon him.

*

The first time Jack went to Pitch without being summoned was during the waning harvest moon. He had been flitting across a farmer’s fields, trailing frost in his wake, and wherever it touched, the cornstalks shriveled and the grasses froze into white spears. Mice and voles burrowed deeper as he came, and the butterflies that had lingered in the sun’s warmth went still. They would not flutter to life again, come morning. 

He could not help this, not as one of the vanguards of Winter. He could not stopper the deep cold that poured out of him, the frost that overflowed. But sometimes it left him jagged and sharp. Sometimes it seemed his very heart had frozen and would shatter in the next instant. 

He flew to the farmhouse and touched the window panes, sending frost spiraling across the glass. He peered inside and saw the children sleeping. He saw the shadows under their beds. 

“Pitch,” he whispered, thinking of warmth and long fingers curling around his shoulders. He shut his eyes. 

When he opened them, he was standing by Pitch’s throne, and golden eyes were watching him. The dark was close around them, only a lone candle casting a small and wavering light.

“Pitch,” he said again, and his voice caught and trembled. 

Pitch said nothing, but he opened his arms, the wide sleeves of his robe spread like black wings, and when Jack clambered into his lap, he wrapped them around him and let Jack tuck his head in the curve between his shoulder and neck. 

A sliver of fear lingered, for it was very dark here, and he had not forgotten the cage. But to Pitch such fear must be a heady nectar, and so he held Jack close and breathed it in, and murmured soothing words that dulled the sharp and jagged cold around Jack’s heart.

*

After that, whenever Jack felt the cold and solitude too keenly, he sought the comforting embrace of Pitch’s arms. Whenever he desired a playmate, he yelled Pitch’s name, and the Nightmares came galloping and hands snatched him into the shadows. Whenever he created an especially pleasing ice sculpture, he brought Pitch to see and flew around him in dizzy circles until Pitch settled him with a laugh and petted his hair and admitted the beauty of Jack’s ice. 

It was on such a day when the lakes were thawing and the icicles dripped from the eaves that Jack recalled his dangerous flirtation with Spring the year before, and the trouble it had caused him. 

“You will need to go further north soon, my little winter sprite,” Pitch said, as though reading his thoughts. His fingers stroked lazily behind the curve of Jack’s ear. 

They were entangled beneath the roots of an oak tree, hiding in the shadows from the sunshine. Pitch was feeding him berries and petting him and telling him scary stories that made Jack’s heart beat faster in a delicious thrill of fear. 

Jack hummed, too contented to think about catching a north wind. He was remembering, too, how Pitch had caught him a year past. He glanced down at his left wrist, thinking that it had been a long time since he’d felt the mark itch and burn. But the black snowflake was gone!

“Your mark,” he said, pushing his sleeve farther back. 

Pitch chuckled. “It was only ever temporary. Did I not mention that to you, Jack Frost?”

“You didn’t,” Jack grumbled, but his annoyance at being tricked so easily was too faint to overcome his contentment. 

“A dreadful oversight on my part,” Pitch commented, and his voice flowed like a syrup rich with pleasure and amusement, sticky and sweet on Jack’s tongue. A kiss on his temple, long fingers twining with his own, and Jack turned with a happy noise and rubbed his cheek against Pitch’s shoulder and the scratchy robes that smelled of smoke and resin. 

Pitch pulled them deeper into the shade and whispered in Jack’s ear, “Anyway, a mark isn’t necessary anymore, is it?” 

And Jack had to admit that it was not.


End file.
